Tempus Fugit
by star.asterick.star
Summary: Maximus travels forward in time just after the battle against Tigris of Gaul.
1. Chapter 1

Tempus fugit chapter one

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Gladiator, believe me, I wish I did. I don't even own a DVD copy… Anyway, all rights go to Ridley Scott and whoever wrote the screenplay – Peter Somebody..? But, hey, if they're offering, I'd love me some Maximus (Sexy Beast!!) *poster girl smile*

**Idea/Summary:** Maximus travels forward in time just after the battle against Tigris of Gaul.

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The room was dark, a single china lamp illuminating the corner. The cot – the _twin bed _in the corner, held a man and a form standing over him, encased in shadows performing what looked like a medical procedure. The man was large, six foot, and wore the remnants of a dirty shift – simple sheet cloth with holes cut in it for his various limbs. It was woolen and cheap, synched with a wide leather belt that had three buckles. Armor lay at the foot of the bed, a breast plate of Roman design and a shoulder cuff, both with slightly elaborate but somewhat crude silver designs of horses and winged lions on blackened steel. His sandals were still attached on his feet and legs, laced half way up his calves. They were simple, made of leather thongs tied around wooden soles and were well worn.

The man made no obvious movements, eyes closed, as the shadowed form stood over him, drawing up a long string from his neck that appeared to proceed from a bloody wound. He seemed to be alive, as his chest did rise and fall with a breathing pattern, though shallow.

The form continued sewing up the man's injury, slowly. His body flinched each time the needle entered into his skin, making the large muscles that filled his giant frame tense and tight, showing off powerful strength.

The figure finished its work, taking scissors from a table nearby and knotted the suture, snipping it from his neck. The man whimpered from the tension of the chord and the figure shushed him kindly, stroking his shortly cut black hair.

For a moment, the figure stood still over him, studying his face and body. It cradled the man's chin in its hand for a moment, free from its work now. A smile drew on its features as it marveled at the strong jaw outlined by the short and well-groomed beard. It almost reached out a finger to feel the beard, but paused, hand outstretched in mid air.

"Focus!" The short, sharp curse spewed from its lips and the figure instantly dropped its hands from the man as if his face had burned the small limb. It rushed away from the bed and across the room to the desk as far away as possible where it fussed and fumbled with some bottles, making a clatter. The man started and gave out a small grunt once, but did not wake, and the figure paid no attention to his movements, returning with a tube of ointment and a clean gauze bandage.

Taking a warm sponge from a bowl just off to the side of the scissors on the table, the form wiped the man's neck from the grime and blood that had caked around the wound. He flinched from the touch and moaned softly, and it shushed him, keeping the volume at the same low and almost silent whisper. This time it pressed a finger to the man's lips, and waited for it him to quiet before beginning its work again. "Shhh… Don't cry - I know it hurts." The figure's mouth moved yet again and the words came this time to the beat of a caring coo.

Slowly it began to apply the clear goopy ointment from the tube with a long Q-Tip while stroking the man's hair again. Its work was finished, and the wound was now thickly covered in the oozy ointment as it shone in the light, sparkling like metal. The shadowed figure carefully unwrapped the bandage from its casing and applied it silently, then left, leaving the unconscious man alone.

**Hey, it gets more fun from here. Just had to start out with a precursor.**


	2. Waking

Tempus fugit chapter two

Casey sighed and petted the calico on her lap, staring at the computer screen. She _wanted_ to watch the stranger lying on her bed resting. Everything about the older man enthralled her, made her curious as to who he was, what he was doing dressed like a Roman - and hell, even his breathing fascinated her. But … her mother had taught her good moral values, and she was pretty sure that watching men sleep was not one of them. Thus, she sat, bored, clicking various screens with apathy.

She pondered creating a new topic on her favorite forum: _Man discovered wearing Roman armor injured in park. Large chunk bit out of neck in what seems to be too big to be dog bite. Also carrying a very bloody sword in hands. Wondering what to do._

Casey shook her head and scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Troll." Her mutter had an edge to it, and she was thankful no one had heard it.

She sighed and stroked the cat again before logging off, tired of staring at pixels. "Now what?" She was angry with herself, and the almost snarl sent the pet leaping out of her lap and out the door with one final, annoyed goodbye look. She huffed and rose after it, hoping it would lead her somewhere interesting. No such luck, just an empty kitchen.

"Spring break, midterms over, no food in the house to cook, no work for another month because the boss took a vacation, no stories to read, no movies to watch… There's NOTHING to do!!" Her shout of frustration echoed through the house like an F16. Instantly she cringed at the thought of waking the injured man. She raced back to her bedroom and peeked through a crack she made by pushing the door open lightly. He hadn't moved from when she had last seen him, resting peacefully with his chest rising and falling in time. He still seemed asleep even.

Casey sighed in relief, and she walked over to him and put her hand on his forehead, checking for a fever and pulled it back quickly. _It was somewhere around 103 last time I checked… _She pulled out the thermometer again and stuck it in his mouth under the tongue, and walked back to sink down onto the threshold of the doorway, the room splayed out to her. _Five minutes._

She sat there on the floor, waiting for the beeper. It wasn't like she could think of anything else to do, so that's what she did.

She refused to stare at him, either his sleeping form or face. A girl of her strict moral convictions just couldn't let a simple sleeping stranger undo her life's work of… temperance. And it was the principal of the thing anyway. She laughed boisterously at the thought of the last time she was temperate before she sighed again.

Casey hated being bored – if that wasn't painfully obvious. She glanced back at the man, but still no change. She glanced at her watch; only two minutes had passed so far…

She stared at the crucifix across the room above her bed and the sleeping man who lay there. "I wonder what you did when you met a beautiful woman…" Her eyes rolled up into her head as she knocked it lightly against the doorframe, coffee brown irises just barely peeking out of the slits of light olive skin. She giggled sarcastically, and it came out more like an evil laugh.

She closed her eyes and let silence pour into the room, just the clicks of the oil heater and the man's breathing to soothe her to almost sleep. She was almost there too. It was very rhythmic.

It was a while before she woke and noticed the man as he began to stir. He moaned softly and brought his arm up to his face as if to wipe it off, just as he rolled over to look at her. Casey panicked, worried he'd see her sitting there staring at him. What would he think?! She dashed out in a rush, just as his eyes began to open, slamming the door behind her.

With a growl, she rolled her eyes upwards. "Good job Case, if he wasn't awake before, he's awake now…" She still clutched the door handle, and when she looked down she noticed her knuckles were white.

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Maximus stirred awake all too slowly for a soldier and grimaced momentarily at the pain that throbbed through out his body like a band to the sickening rhythm of his heartbeat. He groaned, and went to grasp for his armor and found that he had been stripped. He didn't remember handing it off to Proximo or the Gladiator Handler. He didn't remember anything at all after his battle with Tigris.

Something was wrong; something was very wrong. He was in a bed, with a pillow, and covers. The light didn't seem to be coming anywhere other than the odd looking lamp in the corner. The walls were not stone or marble, and were all one color with no seams. Bizarre objects in various cubes were all over, some black, others made of metal – many giving off a light of their own with strange digits and lettering. His only conclusion was that he was not in the coliseum anymore.

A bird chirped, and he turned to see a particular black box dance and jingle on the table opposite to the bed, giving off blue light and making strange growling noises to complement the jingles. He shrunk back, confused as to what it was. It grew louder too, seemingly unaware of his presence. But how could it be unaware if it was making noise. After all, it had to be alive.

He tried to stand, to reach the box and examine it, but his legs gave out under him and he fell to the wooden floor. He cursed and tried to rise, using the bed for a prop, and he was able to.

However, his attention to the odd box was diverted instantaneously as he heard footsteps approaching the closed door to the little room. He grabbed a bizarre knife with two blades tied together on a table beside him and shrunk back behind a large chest. He broke the blades apart with the flick of his wrist and stared out towards the door, watching and waiting to see who would enter. Whoever it was, he'd make them talk.

A woman opened the door and walked in, picking up the box with familiarity. _A sorceress perhaps?_ Maximus wondered. She opened a compartment and began talking, setting down a tray of steaming soup. Her language was odd, like something he had never heard before.

She chatted idly before she turned to the bed, and Maximus now had a clear view of her now. She was beautiful, with long brown hair tied simply behind her in a low loose ponytail. Some of it had escaped and it framed her face on one side, falling just long enough to the sides of her jaw. Her eyes were brown, dark chocolate brown with specks of honey yellow and amber when the light caught them. Fair skinned, her face was like a pale stone, but some of the blood resisted and colored her cheeks a fair blush. She was nothing at all like his late wife.

The box dropped from her ear and fell to the floor with a thud as surprise flew through her features, enlarging her eyes and elongating her face as her mouth hung slightly open. She bent down and reached for the box, and looked at it for a moment before turning back to the empty bed. "John, I'm going to have to call you back…"

She approached the bed where he had woken and touched the disturbed sheets, confusion now blending well with the shock on her face.

When she began to search for him, Maximus saw this as his chance. He sprung from the chest at her, latching his arm around her neck and shoulders and drawing the blade to her throat. His muscles were tense and eager to please their master, eager to draw blood from their victim. He was the soldier again – it had never left him really. No thoughts crossed his mind as he pulled her to him, holding her tightly as she squirmed under him. For a moment he had to remember why he wasn't killing her.

**Chapter three coming up. Hey, bonus points if you can guess the names of the objects that dear ol' Maxxy spots in this chapter (I may even use your name in the story if you guess the most right!!)**


	3. Waking Concluded

Tempus fugit chapter three

"Where am I?! What is this place?!" He remembered now; she had the answers as to where she was. "Are you a slave for Commodus?!" She had gotten still now, and he was able to question her.

Her breath hitched and a tiny gasp escaped her lips. She flinched against the blade, starting up against it and drawing blood as it readily sank into her throat. She spoke fearful and meek, barely a whisper. "Latin."

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To say Casey was shocked was an understatement; it was a major understatement. Nobody spoke Latin anymore. She had only learned it because she figured it would help her become a better doctor – and it helped her cheat on tests… Now she was standing here, being held at scissor-point by some deranged Roman cosplayer speaking the one language she was fluent in, other than English.

What had he said? Where was he, what… was this place? And something about commodus. What was commodus? She couldn't remember. And how was she supposed to translate Iowa?

She closed her eyes for a moment to change her brain over a language before she could reply.

"_You're in a country called… _America" – she decided not to translate that one. "_I found you wounded and decided to take you in and care for you as a doctor. And, I'm sorry sir, I didn't catch that last bit. Something about a commodus?"_ She hoped her translation was correct, and looked up at him eagerly to see how she did. Here was the test.

He blinked for a moment before he looked angry again. "America? I've never heard of a place like that! What empire are we in?! Do you not know who Commodus is?!" The scissor blade pressed deeper into her throat as he put emphasis on his angry words.

Casey tensed as the makeshift knife dug into her deeper. "_Sir, I cannot answer your questions if you cut my throat. Please, can you ease up on your knife hand?"_

The man did as she asked, releasing her entirely and stepping back away from her. He shook his head and put the blade on the table, his back to her.

With this, she rushed for a bandage, and just about grabbed one when he turned and lunged at her again. But he stumbled on one of his sandal strings and she found herself catching her patient/attacker. She stumbled, his full weight upon her, and they both fell to the floor. He was almost unconscious again, and she felt his head for a fever. It was still there. "_Sir, we need to get you to the bed; you need your rest."_

He dropped the scissor blade as she laid him down, pulling the covers up over him. She sat next to him and stroked his head softly, staring at his tired sleeping face. She found herself singing him to sleep with a lullaby. She wished she knew some in Latin, but all she knew were parts of parodies of _Jingle Bells _and _Happy Birthday._ So she found herself singing those, still stroking his hair.

**Hey, I gotta show some mary sue characteristics sometime, right? Besides, the only counterbalances are that she:**

**'s got a common haircolor**

**'s got common eye colors**

**'s not turned on to being held at knifepoint (this is a biggie folks!!)**

**'s she's … well, okay, so she is attracted to Maximus (hey, who isn't)**


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